


Entropy

by FuneralMute (AnnabelLenore)



Series: A Den of Foxes [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: AU where everyone lives and everything is terrible, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnabelLenore/pseuds/FuneralMute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes living is the penance, sometimes it's the reward. Some stars go out with a bang, others slowly burn out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entropy

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to and partially inspired by tumblr users [roberthouse](http://roberthouse.tumblr.com/), [directordaddy](http://directordaddy.tumblr.com/), and [ambassador-alinala-punniel](http://ambassador-alinala-punniel.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> I'm planing on making this part of a larger collection of Tarkrennic one-shots.

The loth-cat opened one eye and then the other as it slowly raised its head up from its paws when it heard the bedroom door slowly open. Perhaps it was fierce loyalty to its master, or perhaps it was simply the laziness that comes with advanced age, but the cat had not once left the room that day, seeming to keep vigil in the crater it left in the plush pillow. 

Andronicus perked up even more as Orson approached the bed. Since he had stayed by the side of his sleeping master since late that morning, he was dying for any sort of affection at this point. With a languid stretch, he stood and made several light chirping noises, hoping that the man would get the hint. Orson pressed a finger to his lips and glared at the creature as he gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed, hoping that the feline would take his hint in turn. 

The thick comforter rustled softly as Wilhuff began to stir under it. He made several quiet sleepy noises that hinted at annoyance before his eyes slowly flickered open. 

“Good morning.” He slurred, voice burdened with the drawl of sleep. 

Krennic gave him a look and tried to hold back a laugh which came out as a snort. “It’s _evening_.” 

Tarkin seemed genuinely confused by this information, staring back at the other quizzically. He slowly turned his head to look at the chrono on the nightstand, squinting as it took a while for his one still good eye to adjust. Seeing exactly what time it was, he quickly raised himself to a sitting position, wincing at the sharp pain in his right shoulder, an acutely perturbed look on his face. 

“ _Calm down_ , Wilhuff. I fed the plants for you. Everything is under control.” He placed a hand firmly, yet gently on the other’s _left_ shoulder. The now _former_ Grand Moff had amassed quite a collection of carnivorous plants, all native species to his homeworld which he cared for with military strictness. The care and study of them was a welcomed past time and it gave him back some needed sense of order and control. It had been a year since he officially retired from his prestigious post within the Empire; the continued complications from the severe physical and mental injuries he had sustained after his narrow escape from the destruction of the Death Star wore him down more than increasing age or the stresses of the work load itself ever could. He knew he could no longer keep up with all that the job asked of him, so with much remorse he stepped down.Orson knew that Wilhuff much preferred to take care of his plants on his own, but he could not justify waking him up from his migraine induced sleep in order to perform such a task. 

Grey brows furrowed, further deepening the numerous lines on his haggard face. He pressed his pale lips to a thin line. “Very well.” He replied in his trademark stern, militaristic tone with a single nod of approval.

Irked that no one had yet to give him any sort of affection, Andronicus butted his head against Wilhuff’s arm. He gave the Angora a single side glance before giving him a quick scritch behind the ear and then burrowed himself under the covers once more. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Orson asked, moving his hand gently over his husband’s forehead and then through his hair. If anyone else had heard just how uncharacteristically gently the director spoke, they would have been struck with confusion, thinking their ears were deceiving them. Krennic was a man of volatile force, a man to be truly feared, but Tarkin was the only one who had ever gained the honour of Krennic’s rare yet genuine affections. Perhaps with Tarkin’s own similar disposition it was only fitting. 

A brief look of contentment passed over Wilhuff’s face at the touch, but the expression quickly vanished. He shrugged a shoulder. “A little better.” Great, or even good seemed far from his grasp now; he was slowly learning how to cope with just getting by. Resting against the pillow, he turned his head and stared blankly at one the Eriadu landscapes that hung in a fine wood frame on the wall. A much more stunning look at a similar scene could be viewed just out the window, but he kept the curtains tightly closed now. 

“Wilhuff, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. 

Orson took his husband’s chin firmly in his grasp and turned his head, forcing him to look at him. “Wilhuff, _what’s wrong_?” His voice carried its well known sternness and force now.

Tarkin snarled and wiggled out of Krennic’s hold. “I’m tired.” He hissed back, a weak fire flickering for a moment behind his right eye that still held all its clear blue coldness. “I’m going back to sleep.” _Tired_ seemed too weak of a word to convey all the forms of exhaustion that weighed him down. He yanked the covers higher up and closed his eyes as he nuzzled back against the pillow. 

Orson was smart enough to know that this was no place to start a battle. “I’ll let you sleep.” His tone was flat. He placed his hand on top of his husband’s and gave it a firm squeeze before moving to stand up. 

Without ever opening his eyes, Wilhuff grasped onto Orson’s hand in turn and gave it a tug. “Stay.” The monosyllable was succinct, clipped, firm, as if he was commanding troops. Those who made the unfortunate mistake of disobeying Tarkin’s orders had a long track record of not ending up well, and Krennic would never even dream of doing anything otherwise. He sat back down.

Their fingers now intertwined, Wilhuff slowly moved his thumb over his husband’s hand, taking great comfort in the sensation. At this point, he had every square centimeter, every vein, every scar of Orson’s hands memorized. Krennic sighed lightly, and lifting Tarkin’s hand up to his lips, placed a firm kiss on his bony, alabaster knuckles.

There was a look of serenity on Tarkin’s face now, and it was far from fleeting.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the [Angora loth-cat breed goes to tumblr user pileofsith.](http://pileofsith.tumblr.com/post/143430476070/domesticated-loth-cat-breeds-part-iii-the-angora)


End file.
